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“Thank you, my friend.” The Russian opened the box and looked eagerly at his bounty.
Abel would have only one cigar, and he would smoke it very carefully. The only time he chanced it was when he was in the mountains and even then he had to see how he was feeling. With his asthma he had to be very cautious. He would savor the moment, smelling the cigar for up to an hour before lighting it.
“I need some advice, Dimitri.”
Petrov snatched a cigar from the box, bit off the end, and lit it. After several heavy puffs, he said, “I was wondering when you would get around to business.”
“Always after dinner. You know that.”
Petrov pointed his cigar at his German friend. “You should be careful. You’re becoming far too predictable.”
Abel didn’t like the sound of that, and made a mental note to review his habits. He withdrew an envelope from his jacket and handed it to Petrov. “Your fee.”
The Russian hesitated while grimacing. “I don’t like this. I have done nothing.”
“I have confidence in you.”
“Ten thousand dollars.” He shook his head. “We are friends.”
“Yes, we are.” Abel slapped the money into his hand. “And I am being compensated very well. Think of it this way…it is not my money…it belongs to the man who hired me. You are a subcontractor.”
Petrov placed the envelope in his pocket. “Now that I have been hired, what is it you need?”
“A name.”
“What kind of name?”
Abel had already decided under no circumstances would he reveal the identity of his target. “I need someone killed.”
Petrov shrugged nonchalantly. “You know plenty of people who specialize in such things.”
“Yes, but this job requires someone who is better than your average plumber.”
Petrov’s brow furrowed in thought. “Can you tell me about the target?”
Abel shook his head.
“You must give me something to work with. Do you need it to look like an accident? Do you care about collateral damage? What theater will they need to operate in? What fee will they be paid?”
“I need the best. I need a real professional. Someone who looks at their craft as a higher form of art.”
“Ahhh…” sighed Petrov. “You want one of the crazy ones. The kind that treat the kill like it is a religion. And you want the best?”
It was obvious that Petrov was thinking of some names. “Yes,” said Abel, “I want someone who not only thinks they are the best, but someone who is hungry to prove they are the best.” Abel had thought of this distinction carefully. There was a good chance that a seasoned contract killer would turn down the job as soon as he learned the identity of the target. He needed someone who was on their way up. Someone who would want to mount Mitch Rapp like that leopard in Abdullah’s office.
“Your target must be someone very important.”
“I wouldn’t say that necessarily.”
“Someone who is well guarded?”
“Not necessarily.”
Petrov threw back a shot of vodka and puffed on his cigar. “I hope you are not working for those damn Saudis.”
“I never reveal my clients, you know that. But out of curiosity, why do you dislike the Saudis so much?”
“As bad as the communists were, they pale in comparison to the Saudis.”
